The Mythos Saga
by Mac Truck
Summary: A rag-tag team on a routine assignment happen to be in the wrong place at the wrong time and are dragged into a Lovecraft-influenced Stargate-universe based adventure of epic proportions.
1. Chapter 1

The Mythos Saga: Part One

_The Mythos Saga: Part One_

_**The Elders**_

Chapter 1

"Johnson! What the hell are you doing now?!" Johnson nearly jumped out of his skin at the sudden harsh shout from Sgt. Bask. He had been at the Antarctic base for almost two months now and had been assigned to the outpost to help the research team, lead by Dr. Elizabeth Weir, in the investigation of a newly discovered network of tunnels that had been overlooked during the preliminary examinations of a recently discovered Russian cold-war military base. He'd spent most of those two months studying rock samples at the base that were being brought back by survey teams. The exact reason why the military had need of a geologist to study rocks on the bottom of the world eluded him, but the opportunity to be the first geologist in history to analyze the strata of the sub-continent was too tantalizing to pass! Despite his expertise in the field and the military's wish for him to come down personally instead of analyzing the samples at his lab in his Massachusetts University, it had taken him nearly a month and a half of constant pleading and cajoling to finagle his way onto a survey team. And now that he was on one, he was going to make the most of it!

The amazing preservation and sheer antiquity of the place still managed to stir up incomparable excitement in the young geologist. He had lagged behind the rest of his team on this particular occasion to get a closer look at some of the unusually untouched strata of the rock formations.

"Look!" Johnson practically leapt up and down with glee. He pointed excitedly at a slightly lighter layer of rock. "See?! SEE?! It's pre-Cretaceous slate! It's got to be over fifty million years old!" The military Sergeant nodded his head in mock understanding, the grimace on his face showing his true comprehension of the scientist's ramblings.

"Uh huh, sure. C'mon, 'Professor', the rest of us have a job to do down here. You'll have all the time in the world once you're with the advanced research team. So, if you don't mind, you can look at your pretty little rocks later, okay?" Sergeant Bask grabbed the smaller man loosely by his camouflaged vest and practically dragged the protesting scientist down the oddly clean-cut corridor to where the rest of their team awaited impatiently.

"Hey, Sarge! If he does it again, can't we just leave him?" The call came from a strongly built corporal with a permanent grin plastered on his face. He was chewing on a wad of bubble gum and leaning against the passage wall with his arms crossed. Beside him was crouched a timid, wiry man of a slightly weaker and shorter build, but of a stronger intellect. He stood quickly as soon as he saw Bask, with Johnson in tow, and leaned nervously against the wall with his companion, occasionally throwing a worried glance down the hallway in front of them.

"Stow it, Perkins, I'm not in the mood." The Sergeant pushed Johnson in front of him so as to keep a better eye on the easily distracted scientist.

"Hey, sorry, Sarge," Perkins stated, kicking off the wall with his back and raising his hands to show he meant no offense. Perkins's gaze shifted to Johnson with a slightly more malevolent twinkle in his eye. "Nice of you to join us, Scotty-boy. Oh, don't worry; I'm sure there'll be plen-nty of shiny things for you to play with when we get there."

"Damn it, Perkins! Just shut-up! It's still a hell of a long walk and I haven't had chow since breakfast. Don't try me."

"Sure thing, Sarge," Perkins winked with mock cheer at his commanding officer as he leaned down and picked up his P-90 and extra heavy pack of gear.

"And what the hell is this?! Perkins! Didn't they teach you anything in the military?! You don't just leave your weapon lying around! What're you…"

"Sir!" The timid little man, who had been silently waiting for a chance to speak up, but had continued to scan the passage, now interrupted his commanding officer. Sergeant Bask stopped in mid-lecture to glare at the little man.

"Sir, I-I…" The little man pushed his glasses back squarely on his face, as they'd been slipping down his nose. He urgently whispered, "I heard it again, Sir!" Sergeant Bask sighed with a detested grunt.

"What? You heard what? 'A whistle?' 'A fluty-musicy-notey kinda noise?'" the Sergeant's sarcasm was lost on the almost hysterical engineer, but that didn't stop him from continuing, "Damn it, Miller, you're hearing things again! Have you gone over to the infirmary and gotten yourself checked out like I ordered, yet?"

"Yes, Sir," Miller whined, "and I'm fine! I'm better than fine! They gave me a clean bill of health!"

"Yeah, well, maybe they should check again."

"I swear, Sarge, I heard it loud and clear this time!"

"Miller," Bask started, "how many times have we been down this way?" Miller thought for a moment before replying.

"Uh…seven or eight, I think, Sir." The Sergeant nodded.

"That sounds about right. And we've never seen anything odd or had anything strange happen to us down here, now have we, Miller?"

"Well...no, Sir," Miller's face lit up suddenly as he pondered the question, "except for that room way far down the passage!"

"Oh! And the strata formations! I mean, wow! They're practically untouched and I'll bet there are more fossils in here than…" An icy glare from Bask stopped Johnson in mid sentence. The Sergeant turned back to Miller.

"I mean, we haven't seen any nasty beasties or strange critters or other weird stuff, right? And was there anything IN the room they found?"

"Well, no. But that was before we installed the generator, and no one's gone down…"

"Right," the sergeant interrupted, only half listening to him. "And you remember how cold and dark it was down here before we put in the generator, right?" The sergeant didn't even wait for an answer. "You don't want to have to go walking around down here in three-inch thick furs with frostbite nipping your toes, now, do you?"

"Well, no…" Miller was getting upset at being cut-off, but this went unnoticed by the impatient sergeant.

"Then," the sergeant interrupted again, "shut your trap and let's get moving! Relax, Miller. There's nothing down here but us. Johnson! Get in front of me; I want to keep you where I can see you!" Miller stood, almost dumb-founded as he was pushed past by the irritated commanding officer.

Johnson enthusiastically took off down the passage with Bask close behind. Perkins knocked sharply into Miller's shoulder, almost making the smaller man lose his balance, as he passed. He turned to give Miller a wide grin, still chewing his gum.

"Awww…sorry 'bout that," Perkins said rather unconvincingly. "C'mon, little man, you don't want to get left behind all by your "wittle wonesome" self, do ya?" He opened his eyes big and wide and pretended to chew frantically on his fingernails before breaking into a fit of laughter.

"Screw you, Perkins." Miller threw a quick glance over his shoulder before pushing on past Perkins down the corridor. Perkins's smug grin grew wider at the comment. Still rather pleased with himself, he shouldered his P-90 before taking up the rear of the line, traveling deeper and deeper into the ancient subterranean vaults.

The team continued traveling downward through the twisting tunnel for what seemed an eternity. The rock became darker and darker the farther they descended. On occasion, the team would pass a dark side passage with a gaping mouth, threatening to swallow any unwary explorer foolish enough to venture into its maw.

A long string of dim electric lights strung along the ceiling of the passage provided barely enough light to navigate, though it was not solely the fault of the lights themselves. The unaccustomed warmth from several heat generators, which the team passed periodically along the way, had caused any ice existing in pockets in the rock formations to melt and vaporize, which filtered through the rock's porous composition and suspended in the tunnel as an obscuring haze of water vapor; an ancient fog released from its frozen bonds of time.

Warm water, freed from untold of ages trapped in the sponge-like rock, dripped continually from the ceiling, saturating the already sweating men as they continued their descent. It seemed that strange air currents were at work far beneath the surface of the subcontinent. Ghastly swirls formed in the almost mystic fog, playing fearful tricks on the minds of those daring to traverse their ancient domain.

Johnson was openly amazed at the effects, commenting on the scientific significance of such vapors and the porous nature of the rock. He conjectured the odd wind patterns were from the heating and cooling effects of the portable heaters and frozen rocks beyond the walls, respectably, which created a current. Bask simply nodded, not caring so much about all this mumbo-jumbo and gave the geologist a gentle push to thwart the scientist's attempt to get a sample of a thick strata of green soapstone he had come across on their path.

From farther down the tunnel there came a constant, fluctuating whistle. At first, it had been so soft as to make the mind question if it was really hearing anything at all, but now the sound was too loud to be without doubt, though it was still barely below whisper. Miller clutched his P-90 closer to his body, his eyes roving restlessly over every inch of passage.

Despite Johnson's reassurance that the sound was simply an effect of the breeze blowing through the tunnel system, Miller still felt unexplainably on edge. He could not put into words the primal sensation of fear that made him grip his P-90 so close to his chest.

Nor could he curb the thoughts that spoke quietly to his mind from the nether regions of his subconscious; whispering to him through that barely audible moan of hideous secrets never meant to be found. Or strange things lurking just beyond the reach of reliable sight in this ungodly haze; things never meant to be seen by mortal eyes save in the fevered nightmares of crazed madmen.

It was not only that, but now the very air itself seemed to carry an ancient taint. With each breath Miller inhaled, he smelt the very faintest of traces of a stench he could not quite place, but knew to be more than stale air. Johnson suggested that perhaps it was a quality of the water vapor being stagnant for so long or a chemical from the rocks that had leached into the tunnel. It was probably nothing...

Eventually, the passage began to level off, the indication that they were near their destination. The thought refreshed their tired limbs' efforts in the knowledge that they were close to the end of their lengthy journey. And, eventually, they emerged into a large room.

The chamber was built of gigantic sandstone blocks, roughly 6 X 8 feet across in surface and easily 5 feet thick. It was built in a curious five-pointed star pattern and was conical in general shape. It measured approximately 80 X 80 feet across and a little over 53 feet high. In the center of the room was a star-shaped pit of unpredictable depth, the mouth of which measured about 30 X 30 feet.

There were four other passages from the room in addition to the one the four men had just emerged, although none of these were lighted. The main chamber was lit with four powerful spotlights, each aimed at the apex of the conical ceiling, as well as several small but effective high-powered electric lamps for general lighting. All of these were plugged directly into a small, strangely shaped, oddly humming power generator, which was placed almost exactly equidistant between the lighted passageway and the huge hole in the floor.

The lights gave the room an eerie effervescence from the heavy humidity. The thick fog in the room made it impossible to see from one side to the other without the aid of the high-powered lights. Air currents played freely across the entire chamber, changing weird wisps and odd angles into nightmarish illusions.

Off to the team's right were erected a few make-shift tents, one to house the medical supplies and field hospital, one for research and scientific equipment, and one for the pantry and food stuffs. Off to their left were several bed rolls spread out across a large area of floor space with backpacks and personal keepsakes beside them, suggesting that there were quite a few others down here.

"This is…" Johnson spun around in wide-eyed wonderment, searching for the words to explain his exact feeling, "just simply INCREDIBLE!" He ran over to the wall and studied one of the giant bricks closely. "Oh, my GOD! This is…I can't believe it! This is Jurassic-era sandstone!"

"So? It's a rock. What difference does it make?" asked Perkins as he swung his heavy pack and P-90 down beside the entrance. Johnson spun on the man, the passion for his work taking full control of mind and body.

"It's from the JURASSIC-ERA! Doesn't that mean anything to you?" Johnson was practically screaming in Perkins's face. In reply, Perkins shrugged.

"So…it's an old rock?" The look of dumb confusion on Perkins's face was priceless. Johnson's tone became sarcastically vindictive.

"Yes. It's an old rock." Johnson turned once again to the wall, "But do you have any idea what this means? This…pyramid…thing" he gestured with both hands wildly in his excitement, "has been standing since before man as we know him evolved!" Johnson spun at Perkins again. "It's been here since the dinosaurs existed and we were just barely primates!"

"Okaaaaay…so what does that mean?" Johnson slapped his head at the unbelievable thickness of Perkins's skull.

"It means that this thing was built before Neanderthals like you even existed! Don't you get it?! No human could possibly have built this!" Perkins shrugged.

"Hey, whatever, man. I just guard the thing. I don't NEED to understand whatever you geeks are doing down here."

Johnson sighed. There was simply no getting through to the man as to the sheer importance of this find. It was going to revolutionize everything anyone had ever thought about the planet's past. And he was going to a part of it! His hands were shaking from the sheer anticipation!

"Sergeant," Miller stood uneasily by the entrance to the chamber.

"What is it now, Miller?" asked Bask in annoyance. He had been rather amused by the scientist's futile attempt at educating Perkins.

"Sir," Miller scanned the room from left to right for the fourth time, "where is everybody?" It was right then that it struck the Sergeant. He had felt something had been off the instant he came into the room, but he hadn't been able to put his finger on it. The room was completely devoid of people. There was enough gear down here for a small army, and yet there was no one guarding it. There wasn't even a guy standing by the generator in case it blew a fuse or whatever happens to one of those gizmos when it breaks down.

"Relax, Miller. They're probably all off somewhere down one of those tunnels looking at something shiny they dug up. They'll be back soon. They wouldn't have left the generator unattended if they didn't mean to be back soon, so don't worry about it. Go warm up one of those hot plates and get some chow started, huh? I, for one, am starving."

Miller walked over to a tipped-over hot-plate and started warming it up as instructed. Despite his explanation to the corporal, the knot in the sergeant's stomach didn't untie itself. There was something that just didn't feel right about this. He reached for his radio.

"This is Bask. Anyone that can hear this, please respond. Over." He was rewarded with silence. Johnson, who was now over his first discovery and had picked up a random notebook that was lying on the floor, shook his head.

"There's no use in that, Sergeant. The concentration of rock down here is dense enough to break up any signal beyond visual range. You're not going to reach anyone with that."

"Well, you don't mind if I try, do ya? It makes me feel better." Johnson shrugged.

"Suit yourself."

Johnson sat down, cross-legged, beside one of the electric lights and began to flip through the notebook he'd found. Bask continued trying to reach someone by radio, to no avail. Perkins lay down on the hard rock ground with his head propped against the wall, eyes closed after the long trek and hands behind his head while chewing his gum.

Miller crouched over the hot-plate, waiting for it to warm up. A bead of sweat dripped down his glasses and he brushed it aside with the back of his hand. He just couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right. Maybe it was his imagination, but it felt like he was being watched. Like every movement he made, every step he took or action he did was being carefully observed by someone…or something.

Not only that, but the smell was worse down here. It was stronger, thicker, and heavier. All the times he and Perkins and Bask had been down here, the smell had never been this bad. Even the hot-plate seemed to reek of that disgusting scent.

And he didn't buy it that everyone had gone off to look at something "shiny". It didn't fit. And that made it all the worse. He looked up at Bask on the radio, at Perkins on the floor, at Johnson flipping through the notebook, and shivered. Something happened here. And he was getting the sneaking suspicion that they were going to find out, one way or another, exactly what it was.

_TO BE CONTINUED…_


	2. Chapter 2

The Mythos Saga: Part 1

_The Mythos Saga: Part 1_

_**The Elders**_

Chapter 2: Something's rotten in the state of…Antarctica?

"This is Sergeant William Bask to any research team member; please respond." Bask had been trying for the better part of a half hour to reach someone, anyone, but to no avail. He gave the radio a frustrated slap.

"I told you, Sergeant, you're not going to reach anyone with that." Johnson didn't even look up. He was almost all the way through the notebook he had picked up and was leisurely flipping through the rest of it. "If you wouldn't mind, I'm trying to read here and your ceaseless blabbering is interrupting my concentration." It was a good thing that Johnson hadn't looked up from the notebook because the glare the sergeant had sent in his direction was meant to kill.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Bask's voice was dripping with sarcasm as he approached the scientist with slow and menacing steps, "I didn't realize I was disturbing you. With the entirety of this expedition missing, how could I have been so bold as to think their safe being was more important than your PRECIOUS CONCENTRATION?!"

Johnson, who had been barely paying attention to what the Sergeant had been saying, jumped visibly when the last two words were shouted into his ear, the notebook escaping from his hands and landing open beside him. He cupped his ear in a fruitless effort to stop the ringing.

Perkins, who had also jumped at the shout, quickly returned to his resting position on the floor, with a huge grin on his face. "Someone's touchy," he muttered to himself as he turned over in an attempt to find a more comfortable position. Bask, already pushed to breaking point, pretended not to hear, though he made a mental note that as soon as they got back to headquarters, Perkins would be doing laps around the base until the corporal could swim in his own sweat.

"Sorry," Johnson started apologetically, "I get a little pretentious when I'm nervous."

Miller had been stooped over the hot-plate, flipping it on and off for fifteen minutes before he had realized it wasn't in working order. He'd spent the remainder of the time, between when they'd arrived and then, tinkering with the device to realign the heating element with the rest of the circuit.

It had struck him as odd that the device had been laying on its side to begin with, but upon opening it, he'd found that it had been taken apart and then very shoddily rebuilt. He couldn't begin to guess as to why someone had bothered to take it apart in the first place or why they'd failed so miserably to put it back together again. There wasn't any problem with the circuits or hardware, as far as he could tell. And as for putting it back together, it wasn't like a hot-plate was the most sophisticated piece of equipment around or anything; a CHILD should have been able to piece the thing back together, for God's sake.

"Miller, have you got that damned thing working yet?!" Bask was pacing around impatiently. "I'm starving, here!" He wasn't really all that hungry. Sure enough, he hadn't had anything to eat since breakfast, but the hunger in his belly had long since been replaced by a steadily growing pit of concern. Barking orders made him feel like something was getting accomplished, even when it was painfully obvious that there was nothing he could really do.

"Yes, Sir. I think I've got it patched up enough to work, now. But I'm telling you, the thing was a mess. Whoever took it apart had no idea what they were doing when they put it back together."

"Yeah, well," Bask looked over at Johnson, who had his index finger in his ear and was wiggling it around inside, "for all their smarts, scientists can be pretty stupid sometimes." Johnson didn't seem to hear as he was preoccupied, but the two corporals granted the statement a subdued snicker.

"Amen, Sarge," Perkins piped up from his spot on the floor as he settled into a more comfortable position. Miller nodded in agreement as he plugged the hot-plate into an adapter and turned on the device. Almost instantly, it began to warm up.

"Piece of cake, Sir. I'll go scrounge us up some coffee or something." Miller felt a bit less uneasy, now that something had gone right for a change. He was in the process of getting up when the Sergeant patted his shoulder.

"Nah, you've done your job. Take a break for a bit, Miller." Bask turned to the semi-conscious Perkins. "Perkins! Get off your lazy butt and go scrounge up something to eat." Perkins groaned, in response. "Perkins! I mean NOW!"

"Alright, alright already!" Perkins slowly rose to his feet and stretched before heading off towards the tents, "I'm going! You don't need to shout, Sarge, geeze…" He took his time wandering over to the tents, despite his sergeant's encouragement to "get the lead out". It wasn't like the food was going anywhere or something.

Miller watched Perkins walk into the nearest tent. Almost as soon as the tent flap closed, there was a loud crash and a series of metallic clunks, in the midst of which Perkins could be heard cursing. Seconds later, a slightly disheveled Corporal Jacob Perkins emerged from the tent, holding two cans of peas, one in each hand.

Miller tried his best to stifle his laughter, turning away in the attempt. Sergeant Bask made no effort to disguise his glee, openly guffawing at the Corporal. Even Johnson, who had by then finished meddling with his ear and had looked up at the time of the calamity, could hardly stop himself from chuckling. Perkins, on the other hand, was nowhere near amused.

"What kind of IDIOT," Perkins started, "would put a huge pile of empty cans in front of the damned door?! And not only that, but they turn off the damned lights too! How is someone supposed to see the damned things?!" Perkins slammed the two empty cans of peas on the ground in front of Bask and Miller, both of whom were laughing uncontrollably. Johnson walked over and joined them. Perkins's beet-red face glistened with sweat and anger. He turned with a huff and stormed off towards his pack, which he had left beside the entrance where they had emerged.

Miller reached over to his own pack, which he had carried with him over to the hot-plate, and retrieved a flashlight from it. This was apparently what Perkins also had in mind, as he left his pack with his flashlight in hand and aggressively approached the food-store tent. Miller rose to his feet and jogged quickly over to Perkins as he entered the tent again, intending to help scrounge up something to eat.

As Johnson's laughter began to subside, he happened to look down at the cans of peas. Their sides had been crudely slashed open and their contents removed. Johnson pulled out his standard issue Bowie knife from its sheath on his vest.

"Sergeant," Johnson said as a quizzical expression crossed his face, "aren't these knives capable of opening the can at the lid?"

"They sure can, Johnson. Why?" Bask took Johnson's knife and picked up one of the cans. Using the serrated back edge of the blade and the hilt of the knife, combined with expertly deft and concise hand movements, the soldier pried off one of the ends of the can. "See? It's as easy as that." The sergeant held up the de-lidded can for the scientist's inspection.

"Right, so why weren't they opened that way?" The sergeant opened his mouth to explain, but suddenly realized that he had no explanation for it. He looked down at the can in his hand and inspected the cut carefully. There was no doubt the cut was caused by a Bowie knife, but it would have been so much easier if whoever had opened the can had just used their knife to pry off the lid.

"I don't know, Johnson." Bask returned the geologist's knife and turned the can over in his hand, exchanging questioning glances with the scientist. The two men stared at the can, looking down upon it as if they expected it to explain itself. Sergeant Bask raised it to his face and sniffed it. A sudden overpowering and disgusting scent assaulted the man's nostrils as he inhaled and he reflexively dropped the can onto the hard, stone floor. It was the same strange stale smell that had always been down here, but the smell emanating from the can was much, much stronger.

There was a lot of clanking and bumbling going on inside the foodstuffs tent while Miller and Perkins were digging around. Occasionally, the ghastly glow of their flashlights shone through the tent from the inside. As Bask wafted fresher air against his face with his hand and Johnson prodded the cans on the ground with his foot, a cry of frustration emanated from inside the tent. This was followed by a sudden shout of dismay, a clanking of cans, and a heavy thud. A moment later and Perkins emerged from the tent's flap, supporting a limping Miller who was covered in flour.

"It's a total mess in there, Sir," Miller said once he and Perkins had reached their comrades. "I don't know what these people thought they were doing, but there's stuff all over the place in there. Just about all of the canned food is already gone. There's a pile of what's left of the salt and baking soda on the floor. Most of that is missing. And as for the flour," he patted himself, creating a cloud of white particles, "well, let's just say that there's not a lot left of that, either."

"What?" Bask looked over at the tent quickly before turning his attention back to Miller. "Was there anything in the refrigerators?" Miller shook his head.

"The doors were wide open and the food was spilled all over the floor, Sir."

"I hate to say it, Sarge, but it's worse than my apartment back home." Perkins shook his head and blew a small bubble with his gum before continuing, "And that's saying something."

Bask snatched the flashlight he wore on his vest and strode purposefully to the tent. The flap leered at him with an immortal mocking grin that only an inanimate object can emulate. He pulled it back and shone his flashlight into the tent.

The light revealed the incarnation of sheer chaos. Cans of food, slashed open and emptied in the same curious manner, were scattered everywhere across the floor. Military meal packs were ripped open and thrown at random. Various bottles of different liquids were shattered on the ground. A layer of white powder, presumably flour, coated the floor at the back of the tent. A few rank and decaying packages of meat were laid out in front of the completely empty refrigerators.

Johnson and Perkins came up behind the Sergeant, Miller having remained where he was since a piece of glass had impaled his leg when he'd fallen in the tent. Johnson's jaw dropped at the scene.

"Yeah, sure is something, ain't it?" Perkins commented as he scratched the back of his head.

"I know scientists can be weird, no offense," the Sergeant looked over at Johnson.

"None taken."

"But this…" the sergeant shook his head in disbelief, "this is beyond weird. Perkins, you go take Miller to the Medical tent and help him get his leg patched up. Johnson, you go over to the research tent and see if there's anything in there. I'm going to go check around the other passages and the sleeping ground. Here, take this." Bask drew his sidearm and pushed it forcibly into Johnson's shaking hands. The Sergeant turned towards Miller and shouted, "Miller! You go with Perkins and get that leg patched up in the medical tent." He turned back to Perkins and Johnson. "And gentlemen," the Sergeant looked around cautiously at his surroundings, "stay on your toes. Remain in radio contact at all times. This damned fog's going to make any visual confirmation tricky, so if you find anything, radio in to the rest of us, okay? Be careful, boys," he took one last survey of the havoc in the tent before turning away, "something screwy's going on here."

With that, the men split up. Bask made a B-line to the first passage to the right of the entrance. Johnson threw a cautious glance over his shoulder and opened the flap to the second closest tent. He pulled his flashlight from his vest and, with a deep breath to give him courage, disappeared inside.

Perkins walked over to Miller, who was trying to get onto his feet and failing.

"Easy there, Dave, there's no rush. C'mon, gimme your hand." Miller sat there for a second, looking up at Perkins suspiciously before he reached over, grabbing his P-90 with his left hand and giving Perkins his right.

"'Dave?' Since when are we on a first name basis, Perkins?" Perkins thought for a second before playfully slapping the back of Miller's head.

"Since I was trying to be nice, for a change, Miller. But don't worry! I'll be back to my normal, charming self once we get that leg of yours patched up." Perkins gave his wounded companion a wink as he pulled Miller off of the floor.

"This is Bask," Perkins's and Miller's radios squawked, "I've cleared the first passage off to the right. No signs of anyone. I'm moving on to the next one. Anyone else have something better to report yet? Over."

"Uh…Johnson, here. Um…guys? This place is pretty messed up. It looks like most of the equipment had been…I dunno…like…" there was a muffled clank, "it's been disassembled or something. There are bits and pieces all over the place. I'm looking at parts of a computer, I think. I dunno, I'm no engineer. I'm going to keep digging around; I'll radio in if I find something. Er…Goodbye?"

"That's 'over', Johnson."

"Ah, right, right. Over!"

"What about you other two guys?" Miller reached up and activated his receiver.

"We're making our way over to the medical tent now, Sir. We'll be there in a few. Over."

"Damn, you're heavy, Miller! We'd get there a lot faster if you'd just lay off the candy bars and brewskies."

"Perkins, you're an ass."

"I try." Perkins replied with a chuckle. They traveled in silence for a minute before the silence was broken by their radios.

"Hey, Miller?" Johnson's voice perked up from the static. "How much do you know about computers?" Miller tapped Perkins's shoulder to indicate he wanted to stop while he dealt with the scientist's query. Perkins obligingly set the smaller man down.

"I know enough to get me by. Why do you ask, exactly?"

"Well, I've been looking over some of the written records in here. The place is a mess and it's taken a while to scrape them together, but from what I've seen, it looks like they discovered something down here. I can't be sure about what, these notes are kind of hard to read, but whatever it was, they were pretty excited about it."

"Okay," Miller grunted as he shifted his weight, "so, where do I fit into this?"

"Well, remember how I found that computer? The one that was taken apart?"

"Yeah…" Miller could see where this was going…and he knew he wasn't going to like it much.

"Well, I'm pretty sure that the research team kept most of their data on the disk or the drive or wherever these things store information on, and I think it'd be worth it…"

"If I put it back together for you?" Miller interrupted, nodding his head and internally asking himself: "Why me?"

"Um…yes. Could you? I mean, if it's not too much trouble…" The pleading in the tone of Johnson's voice was obvious. Another voice came over the radio, this time it was the Sergeant's.

"Do it, Miller. Get your leg patched up and do it. We're getting nowhere by just wandering around and there might be some useful information on that computer. Get to it. By the way, I've sweeped the second passage. I'm moving on to the third."

Miller groaned. "Yes, Sir." Perkins leaned down and helped Miller up again. "I guess we'd better get a move on it. It looks like I've got my work cut out for me."

Bask had milled his way over to the third passage. He was now on the other side of the star-shaped pit and effectively out of visual range of the rest of his team. A cold trickle of sweat ran down the back of his neck. He couldn't stop himself from shivering as it rolled down his spine. Looking around, there was little more to see than rolling vapors and the dull glow of where he assumed lights to be.

He grasped his P-90 with an iron hand. He could see nothing through the fog and the flashlight on his weapon did little to illuminate his surroundings. However, his instincts were screaming. Perhaps it was nothing more than his imagination, but he felt as though a thousand eyes were piercing his flesh and spying on his very soul.

He closed his eyes and listened. His heart thumped deafeningly in his chest. His breath was quick and ragged. The low whistling moan of the tunnels seemed louder somehow, more profound. His head swam with sickening, self-inflicted illusions and gut-wrenching fears.

He tried to convince himself there was nothing there. He told himself to trust his senses. But in this accursed fog, how could anyone trust their senses? He took a staggered step backwards and his foot slipped on something, causing him to lose his balance.

Fortunately, he had always had quick reflexes and, though he dropped his weapon, he had managed to catch himself before his head could hit the floor. His weapon lay close by, with the flashlight on the end pointing in his direction. He looked over at what had caused him to fall and found a scattering of small, metallic cylinders.

Getting up on his feet, but remaining in a crouch, Bask reached for his weapon with one hand and for the cylinders with his other. He picked up one of them and held it up to his face for inspection, using the P-90's light for illumination. Bullet casings…

Just then, an earsplitting scream broke the overall silence in the chamber. Bask's fingers reflexively tightened on his weapon. His entire body tensing with a sudden jolt of adrenalin and he grabbed clumsily for his radio: "Perkins? Miller? Johnson? What the hell was that?!" He waited for what seemed an eternity. Panic began to claw its way into his mind. In desperation, he shouted into his radio: "Someone, answer me, damn it!"

There was another agonizing moment of silence before Perkins's voice, unusually somber and serious, came over the receiver: "That was Miller, Sarge. You'd better get over here. We've found the research team." He paused. "Sir…they're dead."

_To Be Continued…_


	3. Chapter 3

The Mythos Saga: Part 1

_The Mythos Saga: Part 1_

_**The Elders**_

Chapter 3: Malpractice Rates on the Rise

Miller stood, bent doubled over by the entrance of the medical tent. Johnson stood beside him, holding the quivering man stable whilst patting Miller's back reassuringly. The tent flap opened and from it emerged a grim-faced Sergeant Bask followed by Perkins, towel over his shoulder and holding the back of his wrist against nose, squinting in disgust.

The Sergeant handed a bundle of bandages and a small med-kit to Johnson, looking down at the remains of what Miller had had for breakfast on the ground. Miller was still convulsing, although they were only dry-heaves. Bask couldn't blame him. The sight was enough for anyone to lose their lunch. He himself couldn't help but feel his own breakfast creeping up his throat.

It was obvious that Perkins had felt the same way, though he would never admit to it. He sat down on a random crate and sucked in a deep breath or two. His hands were caked in a pinkish paste, which he began vigorously wiping off on his towel.

"In all my days of service, I ain't seen anything like it, Sarge," Perkins muttered, shaking his head. "Who in their right mind could do such a thing?"

"No one in their _right_ mind, could, Perkins. Whoever did it was insane…" Bask stared off into empty space. A strange look crossed his face. "Or…not human."

"Or both," Perkins added. Johnson chuckled nervously.

"Not…not human? Well, how is that possible, huh? You're not saying an animal did it or something are you? I mean, well, that's preposterous! There hasn't been life in these caves for hundreds of thousands of years! I mean, that's just impo…"

"Johnson!" Bask shouted roughly, "Be quiet. You haven't even peeked in there; you haven't _seen _it."

"Well, the sight of blood and everything…"

"Yeah, exactly! So, please just shut up and let us think, here!"

"Okay, but…" Johnson hesitantly began, "why don't we just get the heck out of here, huh? Or why don't we call for reinforcements or something?" Bask turned his annoyed glance once again onto the stammering scientist.

"Oh, 'get the heck out of here?' What then, hmmm? We don't even know who, or what, we're dealing with here! Going back would put us in a very dangerous spot. We'd be in a tight, enclosed space with virtually zero visibility and so many side-passages that we could get ambushed from just about anywhere. We'd be stuck out in the middle of nowhere with limited supplies of food and ammunition on a walk that'll take us just over half a day under normal conditions! And as for reinforcements, how do you expect us to contact headquarters? Our radios are practically useless down here, you said it yourself! This," the Sergeant tossed the bullet casing he had found onto the ground in front of the scientist, "is a P-90 casing. There were quite a few more just like it scattered around, too. It means that someone was shooting at something. Now, either the guy with the gun killed everyone down here, or whoever it was he was shooting at did." Bask closed in very close to Johnson's panic stricken face, "Now, do you want to be in a tight, little passage with a crazy man shooting at you?"

"N-no, I guess not…"

"Then shut up and sit tight, understood? Once HQ realizes that we're over due, they'll send a search party. Just relax."

Johnson nodded obligingly and stopped voicing his conjectures, although he continued shaking his head and muttering doubts to himself under his breath. Bask turned to Miller.

"Miller, I need you to get that computer working. I need a manifest of every team member down here, and I'm guessing that that's the best place to start."

"Sir," Miller croaked out between heaves, "I can't do it…like this." Bask patted the engineer's shoulder.

"I know, Miller. It's a lot to take. But you're a soldier, damn it! Tough it out and get it done! I knew every soldier stationed down here and they're all in that…" Bask searched for a kind word, but his vocabulary failed him. "What I need to know is how many scientists were down here doing research." Bask grimaced. "If I'm right, then one of 'em is missing." Johnson's ears perked up, as did his voice.

"You're not suggesting one of the _SCIENTISTS_ went homicidal or something, are you?! I mean, I could see one of the guards going crazy, but a scientist?! That has got to be the most ridiculous…" Then, a sudden thought dawned on him. "Hey! Maybe it was the Russians!" He looked around in a state of panic. A confused look came over Perkins's face.

"Russians?" Perkins looked questioningly at the scientist. Johnson continued with his thought.

"Yeah, I mean…if that base up there used to be an old Soviet nuclear research facility and all, well, maybe they stored things down here? Experiments or equipment that they didn't want anyone to find? And maybe they sent down some KGB or Black Ops or something to cover up the evidence?! And…"

"Johnson, snap out of it!" Bask gave the scientist a gentle slap across the face. "You're letting your imagination run away with you. Relax." The Sergeant turned to face his subordinates, "I'll take first watch. I want one of us on guard at all times in case whoever did that…" he indicated the Medical Tent with a nod of his head, "decides to come back for round two. Perkins, you're second. And no slacking, you got that?"

"Yeah, Sarge, I hear ya."

The Sergeant ambled over to a crate and sat down on it and began staring off into space as the stunned scientist recovered his senses. After a moment of silence, Perkins stood, walked over, and patted Johnson on the back.

"Hey, don't sweat it. You're taking it a lot better than I'd have thought." Johnson looked up at the reassuring grin on Perkins's face.

"If it makes you feel any better, it wasn't the Russians." Perkins whispered. Johnson looked up at the Corporal quizzically.

"How do you know? I was told that this entire area was used as a secret Soviet research facility! What makes you think the Russians don't have an interest in what we poke around with down here?"

"Nah, nah, nah, nah, nah, nah," Perkins shook his head. "That's a load of crap." Perkins looked around to make sure no one was listening before continuing. "All you civilians have been fed that story. It's a cover."

"You mean…" Johnson threw paranoid glances over his shoulder, "it's not a Soviet Base?" Perkins shrugged nonchalantly, examining his weapon while continuing the conversation.

"You're the scientist; you tell me. Do you really think that the Russians would build a place down here out of rocks you yourself said were older than the human race?" Johnson was about to speak, but nothing came out. In the excitement, he'd forgotten about his phenomenal find. Perkins continued. "And all the equipment and scientists up at HQ, did you really think they were all running around doing inventory on Soviet weapon stashes? And what about you, huh? Did you ever wonder what the military would be doing with a geologist over here in Antarctica if they were cataloging relics from the Cold War?"

"I-I-I don't know," Johnson scratched his head as he pondered the obvious. "I was just so excited, I never really thought about it. You know, this is like a geologist's dream! But, I guess, now that you mention it, it is kind of odd."

"Odd? You don't know the half of it!" Perkins leaned in closer to the bewildered scientist. "I overhead some of the lab-coats chatting over breakfast topside a couple weeks ago. They said that that base up there…" Perkins paused for effect, "it was built by aliens." He went back to checking over his weapon, ignoring the scientist's empty stare. "Or something like that. The 'Ancients' they called 'em. I dunno, I didn't really pay too much attention, not really my thing."

Johnson opened his mouth to say something, but was so dumbfounded that he couldn't do anything more than close his mouth. He took a quick scan of his comrades.

Perkins took out a stick of gum and began to chew it. Miller was still curled up on the ground, just out of earshot. His convulsions were becoming less frequent and he seemed to be recovering from his sickness. Bask wasn't even looking in their direction. Miller took a deep breath.

"So…everything I've been told…is a cover-up?"

"Yeah. But if you tell anyone," Perkins winked at the smaller man, "I'll have to kill you."

"But, why? Shouldn't the world know about this?! I mean, we're not the first intelligent race to populate the planet! This is a huge breakthrough! It might explain all those unexplainable things in the world, like how the Pyramids were built or why Stonehenge exists! This is phenomenal! Why shouldn't people know about this?!" Johnson could barely contain his excitement. Perkins shrugged in response.

"Beats the hell out of me, man, but orders are orders. The brass wants it hushed up, and if that's the way they want it, then it's my job to keep it that way."

Johnson could almost cry. His world had just been turned upside-down twice in one day…and he wouldn't be able to tell ANYONE about it! Stupid military and their stupid conspiracies… If that was true, then what else was too? Maybe there _is_ some secret military base called Area 52 where alien stuff is kept in vaults deep underground…

Johnson pondered the thought for a minute before breaking out into a fit of chuckling laughter. Yeah, right! That's a good one! Johnson sighed and glanced over at Bask, who was staring off into the mist, almost in a daze. A look of concern crossed the scientist's face.

"Is he like this often?" Johnson whispered to Perkins. Perkins looked over at Bask, who continued absent-mindedly staring off into space, tapping his P-90.

"Who? The Sarge?" Johnson nodded in affirmation and Perkins continued in a whisper. "Nah. He just has a thing about weird stuff like this. Something happened back when we were stationed in Cheyenne Mountain. Miller was stationed there, too. The Sarge used to be part of a special ops team. Miller and me, we don't know a lot about what he did, classified stuff and all that, but we've heard rumors of some pretty strange stuff going on inside that mountain. Apparently, something happened to his team down there. I don't know, training accident or something. He's never been the same since. He got stuck with us guarding the place so the big guys up at the top could keep an eye on him. You could go ask him sometime if you really wanted to, but," he said, pulling his gaze from his commanding officer and blowing a bubble until it popped loudly, "now's probably not the best time to bring it up."

"Yeah, I guess not."

Miller, finally over his fit of convulsions, dragged himself over. He plopped down next to Johnson and removed the bandages and med-kit from the scientist's hands.

"I'll take care of my leg, now. Why don't you and Perkins go and find something to eat, huh? It'll take your mind off of things."

"Sounds like a plan, eh, Scotty?" Perkins cheerfully gave Johnson a hearty slap on the back, knocking the breath out of the geologist, causing him to gasp for air. Perkins chuckled and helped the winded man to his feet.

"_-Gasp-_ What the heck was that for, Perkins? -_Wheeze_-" Johnson managed. Perkins smiled widely.

"C'mon, I'll race you! Last one there gets the pack of moldy turkey!"

Miller couldn't help but smile. Same old Perkins. The man had the most peculiar methods of cheering a guy up, but they sure as hell worked! He gritted his teeth as he used a pair of tweezers obtained from the med-kit to pull a long, jagged piece of blood-coated glass from his leg. He was lucky he'd taken some advanced field medic courses in the military academy. In practically no time at all, Miller had sanitized the wound, sutured it closed, and covered it with bandages. Then, he stood, tested his leg, and started moving off towards the research tent. His experience had left him without an appetite. Besides, he had a lot of work to do.

Bask remained where he was, sitting on a crate and looking out across the vast, star-shaped hole in the floor. His mind delved into the depths of thought, searching for something, anything that could help piece together the puzzle with which he was posed. Throughout his long service in the military, and especially his posting at Cheyenne Mountain…and his few, but life altering trips through the Stargate, he'd seen innumerable strange and twisted things. But what he had seen here…was nothing like he'd ever encountered.

The bodies had been badly mutilated, most with their bodily organs removed and cast aside. Several had been brutally cut apart, their appendages scattered. Most of the corpses had several blocks of flesh ripped or cut away, and these, despite the search attempts by Perkins, remained missing. All of the remains had been piled into the back of the tent without regard to sanctity, burial rites, or even ownership of an individual's body parts. The missing stores of salt and baking soda had been used to cover the corpses, sickeningly stopping their decay and granting them a coating of blood-drenched, pinkish sludge.

But, perhaps the most horrific thing about the dead was the way in which they had died. The military personnel had apparently been strangled to death and then been summarily ripped apart. Their remains had been strewn about the tent as if in a fit of rage. The scientists, however, had been meticulously opened using the scalpels and saws that were mysteriously missing from the tent.

It was as if they had been individually dissected by a high-school biology class. But it was worse. From the amount of blood surrounding the operating table, the weathered use of bonds on the table itself, and the uneven cuts and lacerations on the victims themselves, the Sergeant had deduced that they had been dissected…alive.

Perkins didn't know. He knew they were dead, but the Sergeant had remained silent. Panic and fear are man's worst enemies. And it's better to leave some secrets with the dead.

He prayed Miller would be successful in rebuilding the computer and that there would be some information inside that could shed light on this entire fiasco. He shuddered; whatever did this was still out there. And it was waiting for them...

"Johnson, could you _please _stop trying to help? This isn't as easy as it looks! Why don't you go and…I don't know…read something and leave me alone so I can get it done?" Miller winced as Johnson fumbled a coil of soldering wire. It fell onto the floor in the research tent with a jarring clatter. Johnson looked up cringingly at the annoyed engineer, who had paused in his work over a computer circuit-board to berate the scientist.

"Heh, heh…er…sorry?" The geologist tried. He received an icy glare in response.

"Out!" Miller pointed towards the tent's flap.

"I'll just be, ah, going, then. You know, I'm real sorry about…" Johnson began apologetically.

"OUT!" Miller stood and took a step in advance towards the cowering man.

"Ah, right, yes, 'out', yes, going! Bye!" Johnson took off at a near sprint towards the exit.

"Johnson!" Miller yelled as the scientist reached the opening.

"Yes?" The scientist turned around hopefully. A rather heavy, leather-bound, hard-cover book collided with the unfortunate man's stomach, bowling him out of the tent.

"You forgot to take something to read!" Miller sat down again at his make-shift work table. He heard a muffled "Thank you" from outside the tent. Now that the pesky man was out of his hair, Miller could finally continue his work on the damaged computer's circuitry undistracted.

The device, like everything else in the camp, was a mess. He'd already spent a couple of hours cobbling together pieces from other machines to patch up missing parts in the circuits. Where the original bits and bobs had gone was anyone's guess. As it stood, he was lucky to find a working soldering iron and enough wire to connect everything together.

He had been at a most delicate stage of re-aligning the circuits when Johnson had stumbled in and asked how much longer it was going to take. Then, when he'd heard that it wouldn't be more than an hour, the man asked if there was anything he could do to help. Despite the best of intentions, Johnson could not be confused for a technician if you were blind, deaf, and had the IQ of a glass of water. Sufficient to say, Johnson's "help" was not needed, despite his adamant wishes to volunteer.

Miller sighed as he looked through a salvaged magnifying glass and carefully connected a vital circuit with wire and heat. He began to hum to himself some random song that was stuck in his head to help the tediousness of his work and pass the time.

"Why the heck is this thing down here?" Johnson complained, waving the heavy tome around irately. Perkins looked up from cleaning his P-90 long enough to identify the object before returning to his weapon's maintenance.

"Well, if I were to take a guess…I'd say it was here to be read, wouldn't you think? I mean, it is a book after all, isn't it?"

"Well, that's obvious, isn't it? I didn't need you to tell me that! Why do we have an Arabic book down here?" Perkins pondered for a moment before responding.

"What's the matter, can't read Arabic?"

"That's not the point!" Johnson threw up his arms in a fluster, "I spent three years out in the Middle East after college studying their geological maps to find places to dig wells. The language is like second nature to me! But just listen to this stuff:" Johnson turned to a random page in the huge book. After scanning the page, a smirk came across his face and he imperiously read, "la mayyitan ma qadirum yatabaqa sarmadi fa itha yaji ash-shuthath al-mautu qad yantahi." Perkins looked blankly at the scientist, who sighed and continued: "Put in English, the line roughly translates to something like 'That thing is not dead which has the capacity to continue to exist eternally, and if the abnormal'…or maybe 'bizarre' or 'strange'…'ones'…possibly 'things' or 'times'…'come, then death may cease to be.' It's complete non-sense! It's like…I don't know, a collection of some drugged up old man's prattlings! And it's not only that, it's full of all kinds of squiggly caricatures and sketches and funky squiggles that I can't understand for the life of me!" Johnson, exasperated, walked over to the bed-roll he'd flopped down upon earlier that day and dropped the book, none too gently, beside him. Perkins shrugged.

"I don't know. That saying you mentioned sounds kind of like one of those riddle-Zen things in those Asian religions to me. Maybe it's like…an old Arabic wise-man saying?" Perkins shrugged again and blew another bubble. "That's just my take on it." Johnson looked up, somewhat annoyed.

"Whatever, Perkins. I just don't want to deal with whatever…who wrote this anyway?" He opened the book to its title page, "Whatever…Abd al-Azrad had to say, okay? Not right now, at least."

"What's got you in such a fine mood all of a sudden, sun-shine?" Johnson sighed.

"I don't know, Perkins...everything! Everything that's happened has got me up-tight. It seems like Hell itself is getting ready to boil over down here and we're going to be smack-dab right in the middle of it! Like I'm going to be able to sleep! I might get murdered! Just like those poor bastards in the tent!" Perkins shrugged.

"I wouldn't worry too much about that. You've got three…well…" he considered Miller, "two macho military types down here watching ya. You'll be fine for catching a little snooze. Just let us handle it." Perkins considered the fact that whatever happened down there had happened with a full compliment of equally well trained soldiers, but decided it was wiser not to tell Johnson just how feeble their situation was. At least this way the scientist might relax a little under the guise of safety and give him some peace for a change!

"I-I guess you're right," Johnson surrendered as he sat down on someone's bedroll, "I just…wish I could do something down here. I feel useless, you know?"

"Well, I can remedy that. When the Sarge gets done with his shift, I'll tell him you volunteered to take the next watch. What do you say?" Johnson stretched out and rolled over.

"Screw you, Perkins. I'm going to _TRY_ and get some sleep." Perkins smirked.

"Well, you can't blame a guy for trying…" Perkins muttered as he clicked his P-90's ammo clip into place. He sat down on the ground and leaned with his back against the crate. He still had a few hours before the Sarge would come back to be relieved and Perkins knew he could use all the rest that he could get. He, too, slipped into unconsciousness as the fog flowed above his head, the breeze moaned up and down the passages, and someone…or something lurked in the dark depths beyond…

_To Be Continued…_


	4. Chapter 4

_The Mythos Saga: Part 1_

_**The Elders**_

Chapter 4

Miller rubbed his eyes, attempting to wipe away the advancing strands of weariness that harassed his vision and burned his eyes with want for the rest that he so desperately desired. The lack of sleep, combined with the day's grueling events, had taken their toll on the engineer's efficiency.

The distant ethereal moans of the wind through the tunnels didn't help, nor did the omnipresent darkness that stalked him just beyond the guard of his work light. Shadows played maddening tricks on his easily distracted mind. He found himself jumping at their flickering illusions; vague vanishing specters he'd spy from the corner of his eye which, the sooner he would turn to confront, the sooner they would disappear into the abyssal sea of darkness beyond his sanctuary island of light.

What he'd thought would take only an hour to finish had already taken him nearly two. In fact, he was surprised that the Sergeant hadn't burst through the door yet, demanding what was taking so long.

"All right, let's try that," he muttered under his breath while stifling a yawn. The contraption that lay compiled before him begrudgingly began to hum dubiously as the various bits and bobs, scattered in some form of chaotic order across the table, flickered into a strange, discombobulated mockery of its former mechanical existence. A cracked Liquid Crystal Display monitor that he'd managed to salvage and had connected to his abomination of circuitry began to glow with the unnatural spark of life.

He waited impatiently as the device ran its start-up diagnostics. He held his breath as it passed through the critical stages where, for the past 12 attempts, he'd been greeted by the blue-screen of death. Staring at the luminous display intently, he silently prayed for the computer to fail to realize that most of its innards had been splayed across the table. He let out his breath in a whoosh of relief as the hard drive began to spin and the operating system began to open.

Unfortunately, it seemed that over half of the available RAM had been fried; it was taking a virtual eternity to boot up. Still, slow was better than not working at all. He was just going to have to wait.

With nothing to distract it, Miller's mind began to wander. And while staring at the bits and bobs of the computer, he couldn't help but think of the men he'd stumbled across in the medical tent. He had just taken all the different pieces and parts of a complex machine and cobbled them together to grant them a mockery of life. Whoever had slaughtered those men had done the exact opposite; taken a complex machine apart piece by piece, bit by bit, until that which made it work and function had been slowly extinguished.

He fought against the stomach acids creeping up his throat and the accompanying queasiness by sucking in deep, calming breaths. He tried not to think about being cut open, seeing his own organs removed one by one. He squinted hard, failing to force away his twisted imagination's rendition of the agonized screams, the horrible thrashing in fighting for his life, the sickening helplessness as no manner of pleading or prayer could aid him in those final moments where the only release was that of the death that he feared so much…

The sudden noise of the flap of the tent fluttering rapidly behind him broke Miller from his trance. After years of catching a quick snooze on guard duty at Cheyenne Mountain, sleeping lightly was second nature. Without even looking, Miller nonchalantly greeted his commanding officer.

"Just in time, Sir, the computer's just finished warming…" Miller revolved his seat so he might face the Sergeant, but stopped as he found himself holding a conversation with nothing but empty ether, "…up?" he finished with a confused tone. His eyes scanned the shadowy contents of the tent for the cause of the noise but to no avail.

"Sergeant?" Miller began to feel his stomach twist. He instinctively grasped for his sidearm, only to find himself clutching at nothing. His holster was empty! Startled and beginning to panic, Miller frantically scanned the ground and then the desk; his weapon was nowhere to be found. A chill washed over him, coating his body in paralysis as he realized he was completely defenseless.

"P-Perkins?" he asked weakly, hoping it might be a practical joke the prankster was pulling. His hail was met with silence, or more precisely, with no reply. He hadn't noticed until just then that the whistling in the tunnels had intensified. But it was so much more than wind…

As it had grown in volume, he could now hear it more clearly: a piping, droning chaos of flurried flutes in an eerie sonata of erratic notes mingled with what could only be perceived as the disturbing baritone of a chorus of damned souls, chanting utterances in some ancient tongue best left forgotten in the forbidden vaults of time.

Miller shrunk down into his chair, the very sound closing in all around him, pressing against him, vibrating through him, growing louder, ever louder. He clasped his hands over his ears, attempting to muffle the agonizing dirge, but it grew louder still, in spite of his pitiful efforts! He dropped from the chair to his knees on the ground, so painfully loud that he was almost writhing in the agony of its melody.

He felt his own blood pressing against his palms. And as it continued to increase in volume, he began to thrash about on the ground in pain.

Despite its disturbing, destructive and undoubtedly foreign nature, it stirred the strangest of images in his mind; forcing their way into his brain as though piercing through his very skull with the vibration.

They were so distinctive, so vivid, and yet so fleeting and ethereal. There were great towers formed of enormous black blocks stretched across high mountains, quickly replaced by cities of strange scaled creatures beneath a vast ocean in a hazy metropolis of coral and rock, which shifted to the barren wastes of some remarkably alien vistas never seen by the eyes of sane men, which in turn became thick, primeval forests.

Finally, the images dimmed and the flutes died away to a mere murmur of their former oppression, leaving the underlying chant much more dominant. It was then that Miller truly realized just how otherworldly the chant really was. It formed a chaos of muttered syllables, swirling and gurgling off of each other in harmonies unperceivable by the human ear; grasped as mere concepts in a leap of faith by a mind twisted and tortured by perverted demonic pleasures.

This series of sound conjured a vision as well; one of a vast, deep-green vista covered in scattered floating rocks and cyclopean pillars. The rock was as black as the emptiness beyond the stars and dripped strange green liquids with no visible source. The chant seemed to emanate from the very air. And worst of all, seemingly in summons to the other-worldly gibberish, a huge dark shape directly in front of the man began to stir; to arise.

Miller could barely hear his own screams as he stared in paralyzed awe at the sheer mind-shattering grotesqueness of the Thing as it began to take form before his very eyes. He strained to rip his gaze from the terrifying creature before him, forcibly turning his entire body and clasping his eyes shut as tight as he could. And as he did, all the sound stopped. He waited until what seemed an eternity had passed. And then...he opened his eyes.

He was laying face down on the ground of the research tent, shuddering and shaking from the experience. What was going on? What just happened to him? _HAD_ it even happened? He couldn't put it into words. He couldn't put it into _THOUGHTS_, let alone coherent ones.

He listened. There was no sound. There was no blood on his hands or dripping from his ears. He reached down and tapped the handle of his 9mm handgun, securely in its holster. His muscles began to relax and he released a sigh of relief.

He stood, dusting himself off. The computer had switched itself into stand-by mode. Miller tapped the spacebar and it began to hum loudly as it began to wake up. At least he'd managed to get the stupid thing to work before he'd conked out.

Eventually, he noticed the heavy tread of boots growing louder and louder, indicating that someone was coming. The rustle of the tent's flap announced their arrival. Miller turned to see Perkins enter the tent, backwards to keep the flap out of his face.

"Perkins," Miller started as he turned back to the computer, "go get the Sergeant and tell him that I've got the stupid thing working. It may not look like much, but then again, neither do I, right? Heh heh…" Miller's attempt at jest was met with a heavy thud. He spun around to see Perkins curled in a ball not far from the tent opening.

"Perkins?" Miller was at his companion's side in a heartbeat. He touched the man on the arm. "Perkins, what's wrong?" The man groaned in response. And as Miller rolled Perkins over, the fallen man's hand latched onto his wrist with a vice-like grip. Miller shrieked, half in shock, half in sickened horror at the sight of his comrade. He ripped away and stared down at the man's blood encrusted hand.

"Miller…help…" Perkins lay pitifully sprawled on his back, reaching with one bloody hand for his companion. Countless slashes and cuts covered the man. Huge gouges of flesh had been removed from various parts of his body. His other hand clasped at his abdomen, holding his internal organs in the cavity. His clothes, tattered and shredded by innumerable slashes, were drenched in his own bodily fluids.

Miller recoiled frantically, stumbling backwards over his own feet and crashing into the table with the computer. Spinning around to catch the table for support before completely losing his balance, he came face to face with Sergeant Bask's disembodied head, staring at him. It sat stoutly on the table, blood continuously pouring from its neck. It was trying desperately to form words, but nothing came out of its flapping mouth.

Miller released the table reflexively with a scream, landing hard, sprawled on his back and staring upwards. As if breathing wasn't hard enough, the fall had knocked out what existing breath remained him. And as he struggled to recover what he could, a shadow crawled over him.

Standing above him was Johnson, in a blood-stained doctor's operating apron, a sterile mask stretched across his face. A red-glint blared across the geologist's eyes as he knelt down beside the helpless man. He was laughing uncontrollably with a hideous cackle as he raised a foul black dagger, encrusted in ancient insignia of power and blood.

Miller frantically grasped for his side-arm, but found that the holster was empty. He quickly looked down to discover that, not only was the weapon gone, but his hands were covered in fresh blood. Spinning his head around, he noticed great red pools trickling from his ears beside his head just before the psychotic laughter of the scientist hovering above him was drowned out by a horrible torrent of flautist noise and choral mumbling. He began to scream, but he couldn't even hear himself. He tried to pull himself up off the ground, much to the amusement of the psychopath, but found that he couldn't move! He was strapped down to an operating table and, thrash as much as he might, no bond would budge. Johnson drew close to Miller's ear.

"Stop that…you wouldn't want me to make a mistake, would you? Everything must be absolutely perfect…yes…_perfect_!" Johnson's whisper boomed louder than anything else before the maniac broke into fits of hysterical laughter of which only a mad banshee, forcibly driven to the endless depths of insanity, is capable. And just before the cruel, curved blade was about to plunge into his chest, Miller's eyes snapped open.

He found himself slumped over the table, drenched in a cold sweat, shuddering uncontrollably. He spun around in his chair, ripping his sidearm from its holster and pointing it accusingly at every questionable shadow his blurred vision deemed threatening. He shook his head violently from side to side to hasten the affects of sleep in leaving him.

The tent flap opened in a flurry of motion and Miller found himself looking down the sight of his weapon at a very confused and alarmed Sergeant Bask.

"What the _HELL_ is going on in here, Corporal?" The Sergeant quickly took note of the situation and his particular role in it. "Miller, I don't appreciate that weapon being pointed in my direction. Holster it." Miller was frozen with confusion and internal conflict.

"Holster that weapon, _NOW_, Corporal!" Bask shouted. Miller broke from his trance and shakily put the pistol down on the table. He then grasped his head in both hands. There was no blood. No chanting. No dagger. The distant whistle of the tunnels still permeated the tent, but it was soft and almost soothing compared to the torrent he'd dreamed. The other sounds: the computer's hum, his ragged breath, his heartbeat, only served to prove he was truly awake.

Bask slowly inched forward, never taking his eyes, or P-90, off of Miller while retrieving the handgun on the table.

"Sorry…Sir…" Miller started, still attempting to shake off the effects of the nightmare, "I must have dosed off. Hell of a bad dream." Bask didn't shift an inch. "I'm alright, Sir. Just…a little shaken, that's all." Bask considered the testimony for a moment before clicking the safety on his P-90 back into position.

"Yeah, I suppose so. After everything that's happened today, I'm a little jumpy myself." The tent's entrance behind Bask flapped and a bedazzled Perkins and Johnson stumbled in, both with weapons brandished threateningly.

"Hey, what's with all the hoopla?" Perkins asked with nervous irritation, "It sounded like a howler monkey stubbed its toe in here!" Johnson was wide-eyed and anxiously pointing his gun in every direction he possibly could at once.

"Relax, boys," Bask began, "just a false alarm from a soldier asleep on duty." Miller bowed his head in shame. Johnson and Perkins visibly relaxed, lowering their weapons. Johnson perked up instantly when he saw the computer's monitor exhibiting the classic "stars" screensaver.

"Hey! You got it working!" Miller turned and tapped the spacebar on the keyboard. The screen came to life, displaying the desktop and a smattering clutter of icons.

"Well, what do ya know?" Perkins said with a grin, "You're not so useless after all." Perkins gave the engineer a hefty pat on the shoulder that almost toppled the barely awake man off of his chair. Johnson leapt to stand directly behind Miller's left shoulder and began to scan the screen intently. Miller leapt out of his chair as Johnson came up behind him. Dream or no, he wasn't going to let the scientist stand anywhere near him, and _especially_ not behind him, if he could help it.

"Now that's a different story," Bask said with a lighter tone, "Miller, go take a break! You've earned it!" Finally, something was going right for a change.

"I don't think I'll be able to sleep for a week, Sir." Miller was still shaking uncontrollably. "Or, you know…ever again."

"Get something to eat, then, Corporal. Maybe some coffee will wake you up and kick the jitters out. Perkins," Bask turned to the other Corporal, "You go with Miller. From now on, I don't want anyone to go anywhere or do anything alone. We're getting too jumpy, and I'd rather we avoid any unfortunate accidents if we can help it."

Perkins groaned in annoyance, but followed the smaller man out of the tent regardless. Bask then turned his attention to the computer. Johnson was already opening files and scanning over research notes.

"When you get the chance, Johnson, look up a directory for the scientists working down here, huh?" Johnson shrugged.

"Yeah, yeah. Already done." He Alt-tabbed into a personnel file he had already taken the liberty of opening. "There you go, Sergeant. See! There were," Johnson traced down the screen with his finger, counting, "Twenty-seven research team members down here."

The Sergeant remained silent for a moment. Then, he tapped his radio.

"Perkins?" A moment later, the Corporal responded.

"Yeah, Sarge?"

"How many scientists did you count in the medical tent?"

"Uh…" he thought for a moment before responding, "Twenty-five wasn't it?"

"Yeah, that's what I counted."

"Why? Did somethin' come up, Sarge?" The Sergeant took a deep, solemn breath. He released it with agonizingly slow speed, as if prolonging the reply would change the result, but to no avail. Johnson groaned as he achieved an epiphany.

"Yeah," Bask said finally, "it means there's two of 'em out there…somewhere..."

_TO BE CONTINUED…_


End file.
